The Morningstar
by Imladviel
Summary: Eternal Spark Book 6; Niphredil is now a supporting character, and the focus is on new OC heroes: Elena and Gilliam, the Brandybuck sibligs. Gala daughter of Gimli. Mircal of Gondor. Neldohír the half-Ent. And Narannon Peradan.. and one other.New chapter!
1. The Green Wizard

**The Morningstar**

_Chapter One: The Green Wizard_

**Bree Village, September 12, Shire year 1486**

It was a peaceful evening in the home of Marron and Eowyn Brandybuck. They were having supper with their two children, Gilliam and Elena. As always, Elena said she wasn't hungry and gave her share of mushrooms to her brother. As always, Gilliam ate them all and asked for more. And his mother made him a sandwich, for Gilliam was a growing boy. He was as tall as his mother, not likely to get more height at the age of thirty-four, but growing more muscular and stocky all the time. One might suppose it was the Stoorish blood of his Maggot lineage, since his father was short and slim. But although he could thank her mother for his stature, it was not her hobbit half that manifested in the son as much as her human half. Eowyn's father had been a human. An enemy. The story was common gossip in Bree - Lily Maggot had been abused by a human, and died giving birth to a daughter. This daughter, Eowyn, had been adopted by Lily's childhood sweetheart, Meriadoc Brandybuck.

From his father Gilliam inherited his handsome features and thick brown curls. His sister Elena was quite his opposite; not only was the girl as small as a stoorish-born hobbit can be, but her hair was golden and not curly at all, only slightly wavy. This and her curious, narrow eyes were how her human part revealed itself. No hobbit youth in Bree had shown any interest in the girl who would be of age the following year, but her family, who saw past her strange features, who noticed her radiant smiles and her bold gait, were sure she was the prettiest girl in the world. Elena and Gilliam were close as twins and each other's best friends. Gilliam, in turn, cared nothing for the girls who admired him or the youths who envied him, choosing instead the company of his unpopular sister.

Just as Eowyn was going to start cleaning the table and Marron was filling his pipe, as Gilliam picked the leftovers from his parents' plates and Elena yawned and declared she was thinking of going to bed early, there was a knock on the door.

Eowyn, on her way to the front door, wondered who it could be. It was a strange time to come calling – she hoped nothing bad had happened in the neighbourhood. Eowyn had taken up the profession of a midwife among the Bree hobbits, but no child was due this Autumn. Her Bolger grandmother had taught her since her childhood, but it was the tradition that a midwife only started the work properly after having given birth to children of her own. She knew a lot of healing too, and friends often asked her help fer someone was hurt or ill, trusting a hobbit rather than the human healer of the village. Women in particular sought her help in ailments that only bother women.

The person on the doorstep did not appear to be in need of any kind of help, however. He was shorter than Eowyn and wore a large brown hat, so that Eowyn found she only saw the top and brim of the hat, not the stranger's face at all. She noted he had a loose green robe and a staff.

The stranger removed the hat and bowed politely. The hat had hid a beardless hobbit face and a wealth of black curls.

'Greetings, madam, and good health to you and your household.' The visitor stood up.

Eowyn recognised her.

'Niphredil! Niphredil Baggins, is that really you?'

'It is me, Eowyn dear, although I now answer to the name of Niphredil the Green. For with this staff I bear a burden of mastership of magic. I have finished my studies with Radagast the Brown, and he has made me his successor, for he is weary of the duty and unnaccustomed to war. This piece of pinewood, Eowyn dear, was the staff of Radagast before it became mine.'

'Come in! Good heavens, you haven't changed a bit! You still look as young as when you disappeared from this selfsame doorstep that Yule night so long ago!'

'Did you get my letters?'

'We did. The strange one just one week after your departure, bought by a royal messenger, the three long letters after it and the gifts and the scary letter telling you are going to war, and the one telling you were back safe and sound, and we heard news of you from the Gamgee family too, and then the bird-borne note from Radagast's dwelling, ten years ago. We told it all to our children. They will be glad to meet you.'

Niphredil hung her hat on a peg, lifted her baggage from the doorstep and took it in, then picked up the bow and quiver that she had leaned against the wall, hung them on pegs as well, and followed Eowyn to the kitchen.

Marron was dumbfounded seeing his friend and helper return so unexpectedly.

'…and look, Marron, she hasn't aged a day! I have grey in my hair, although I'm only five years older than she is.'

Marron shook his head.

'No, Eowyn. Don't you see it? She has aged. She has matured, I should say. The Niphredil I remember was a mischievous girl. She didn't smile serenely like this woman in our midst, her smiles were wild grins. This is not the adventuress, the knight, the halfling princess. This is a wizard in truth. There is a stern power on her features, and a steady fire in her eyes. Niphredil the Green, I am honoured to meet you. Here are my children, Gilliam and Elena.' He gestured at the young ones.

The youngsters stepped forth from behind the table. Gilliam bowed and Elena curtsied.

'I am glad to be here and pleased to meet you, more pleased than you know. I have much to tell, so perhaps we could light a fire in the fireplace and sit in your parlour.' Niphredil suggested.

'Of course.'

'You have read my letters so I need not tell you about my adventures. Of my studies I can say little. I am the first living soul ever to take up pure, untainted magic by studying it, but I suspect and hope I am not the last. It is true one needs to have the Song in one's blood to reshape the world by words - but I am not the only one walking Middle-Earth with Maiarin blood in my veins.

'I have, however, an urgent mission here and it concerns you all. Some time ago Radagast received word that a new evil is about in Rhûn. There are elves, wild elves there who have remained hidden on islands in the Sea of Rhûn until our days, but they have now revealed themselves because of a danger that threatens them. And they have sent a message to Radagast, because they have heard of him from Alatar and Pallando who once went among them but are now long gone.

'This is part of the message:

"Three monsters have joined forces in a way that suggests a mastermind of darkness ruling them. The first is our ancient foe, the Sea-Serpent Gornein*. The second is his winged cousin, a dragon who with a malicious voice names herself Sivara*. She is smaller than Gornein but breathes fire. The third is a hidden terron in the forest, a spider of gigantic size. There may be more than one such, but only one has been seen at a time. We call it Ugaliante*. And all now seek to attack fortresses and villages, elf and human alike, although only Gornein used to prey on us and it has always before preferred lonely victims and small boats. One we might defeat, but not all three together. Already Sivara burned part of our fairest town while Gornein trashed amok in its harbour, so that our defense was divided. And we have seen Ugaliante ride Sivara to attack a human village. Our help arrived too late; all the people and their cattle had been slaughtered and devoured by the monsters." Niphredil recired the words from memory, her eyes glinting darkly.

'As I said, Radagast is no warrior. This is why he gave me his power and his duty, and I accepted it. I went first to my friends in the south; and most of all to Quetondo who lives with Gimli. You remember how I wrote that Gimli has found a way to release Quetondo, my friend the jewel-spirit, from the stone that she had lived inside much like a tortoise in a shell. Outside the stone, Quetondo has none of her powers, yet she is ethereal even in the flesh. Her hair is not like your hair or mine, but like a halo of misty light around her head, intangible as a cloud. Her eyes shine like jewels, her skin sparkles, and her teeth are diamonds. And she has become wife to Gimli and borne him a child.

'I asked her to return into the stone for a while and prophesy to me.

These are the words she spoke:

"To fight this evil, all free peoples of Middle-Earth must unite in a Company Of Mixed Bloods.

The Green Wizard must fnd them and lead them, and in all they number seven.

Two princes there will be, the sons of Elessar and Bregalad.

Also, the Morningstar must join you.

The Morningstar you shall know by two hairless feet and two unmatching eyes.

The Morningstar must bear and wear the Heritage of Bilbo and the Gifts of Galadriel.

One more I see of the seven, the daughter of my flesh. The rest may fate lead to you."

'I was surprised:

'Gala**? But she is only twenty!'

But Gimli told me:

'Twenty is a woman's age for a dwarf. Already she is a journeyman jewelsmith with skill to rival her masters!'

And I asked Legolas, who has been to Fangorn more often than I:

'Does Bregalad have a son? I thought he never had an entwife.'

'He didn't. But he does have a son. The Company is of Mixed Bloods, remember? His son, Neldohír**, is half ent and half elf.'

'Neldohír – 'of the Beeches?' You don't mean…' I asked, knowing Legolas has a sister named Neldoren of the Beeches.

'Yes. Neldoren's son. The reason my sister lost the title of 'Lady of the Wood'. Motherhood and loss of position has actually improved her character, and Neldohír is my favourite nephew.'

'So I must go to Thranduil's halls once more?' I was afraid of this prospect - me and King Thranduil did not part as friends.

'Not necessarily. They live more outdoors than indoors, on a Lórien-style flet. Neldohír is twenty-five, very young. Take good care of him.'

'I will. But I wonder if Aragorn will allow his son to go with us?' This was my next worry - Eldarion was surely too important to go off gallivanting in Rhün.

'I think my prophecy considers the younger son,' Quetondo said, 'not the heir to the throne. The younger son is named Mircal**, and he is eighteen.'

'So young!'

'He is human, at least to all appearances. And as a human, he is of age.' Legolas reminded me.

'But who is this Morningstar?' he then asked.

'Quetondo has spoken of this once before. She greeted my friend Eowyn Brandybuck as 'Daughter of sorrow, mother of the Morningstar. Eowyn was no mother then, but she got married and must have children by now.'

'And so I took Gala, daughter of Gimli, and Mircal, prince of Gondor, with me and went to The Wood of Green Leaves. We met Neldoren and her son, and set forth for Bree to meet you. The others are waiting at the Prancing Pony. Now all that remains is to figure out which one of you is the Morningstar – Elena or Gilliam. By the way, I note you both have an elven word for 'star' in your names**.'

'You mean only one of us can come?' Gilliam was shocked.

'Well, that's what the prophecy says.'

'It also says 'the rest may fate lead to you! If Gilliam goes, I will follow, and if I go, he will come with me! That is fate!' Elena stamped her foot.

'No, that is love. But we shall see. Elena, I notice your left eye is light brown, the right one almost black. Is this so or am I imagining it?'

'It is so. One eye the colour of tea and the other the colour of coffee, that's what Gilliam says. But I have hairy feet.' Elena looked at her feet, sadly.

'Oh, so you do! I didn't notice at first because the hair is so pale. It cannot be you then. Gilliam, let me look at your eyes.' Niphredil instructed.

The young hobbit had to bend down a bit.

'Both your eyes are the same brown. I thought it would be you, you certainly have no hair on your feet.' Niphredil was confused.

'No. Wish I had. I have to wear boots in winter like a human.'

'You don't have other children, do you, my friends? Little ones already fast asleep? Tweenagers having a late night out?' The wizard-woman inquired in despair.

'No. Only Elena and Gilliam. And I'm not likely to give birth at my age.'

'Hmm. Quetondo's prophecies are usually accurate.' Niphredil looked into the fire, deep in thought.

'I get it!' Marron suddenly exclaimed, 'You would see it has to be so if you knew my children better!'

'What do you mean?' Niphredil asked.

'They are _both_ the Morningstar. The Morningstar _is_ Elena and Gilliam. They are as close as siblings can be. Two hairless feet and two unmatched eyes.'

'Why, of course!' Eowyn clapped her hands in delight. Then her smile vanished.

'But I see I will have to give them up for this adventure. I shall miss them, but I am glad they will have each other and you, Niphredil.'

Elena and Gilliam hugged and danced around in circles.

'When shall we leave?' Elena asked.

'Tomorrow, if you can make it. Come to the inn after breakfast. Take only as much as you can carry; we have a horse-drawn cart but we will go on ponies after Rivendell, and maybe later on foot. You needn't worry about money or food; with the Prince of Gondor in our company we have aplently. On second thoughts, I would appreciate some dried mushrooms to add to our supplies…' Niphredil winked mischievously.

Eowyn laughed:

'Call yourself what you like, in some matters you will always be a Baggins!'

'Maybe. This reminds me of another detail of the prophecy: The Heritage of Bilbo and the Gifts of Galadriel.'

Niphredil fetched her bag and took out two bundles. The larger one turned out to contain a mailshirt and a sword. The mithril armour of the Baggins family, and Sting.

'This is too small for Gilliam, so Elena will wear it.' She said, handing the mithril shirt to Elena.

Then she opened the small bundle; it was a fine cloak with a mallorn-leaf brooch.

'This one has been twice to Mordor, beyond the West and far in the East, and it is still as perfect as the day it was woven. May its magic protect you, Gilliam. And of Galadriel's gifts, there is also this. A light in dark places.'

She took out the Phial.

'One of you shall take the Phial, the other takes the sword. How do you choose?'

'I would feel safe with the sword. But so would Elena. You decide, sister.' Gilliam offered.

'I will also feel safe with the protection of Eärendil. And the phial fascinates me.' She took it in her hand. A spark flared inside it.

'Eärendil has chosen you, Elena. So be it. Sting is yours, Gilliam.'

'Mine? I thought you only lent us these things!'

'Return it later if you wish. These are too grand posessions to hoard and hide. I have my staff, and the best bow this side of the ocean. It is only just that you are provided for the journey by past generations. Gimli gave his elven cloak to Gala, and I guess Neldohír and Mircal have received gifts from their parents as well. Oh, at least Legolas lent his cloak to his favourite nephew, and Elessar to his son. Such cloaks are not made anymore, nowhere that I know of. Tomorrow, after breakfast – and I mean first breakfast, Gilliam – be at the Prancing Pony.' Niphredil's voice was stern now, like that of a schoolteacher.

'How did you know what I was going to ask?' Gilliam demanded.

Elena laughed;

'Brother dear, it doesn't take a wizard to notice the pile of dishes before your seat! I wonder how long those supplies will last us – Gilliam eats more than the rest of the family put together.'

'Only because you eat like a little bird, sister dear! I'm a growing man.'

'Oh yes, especially in your stomach!' Elena punched him playfully in the mentioned region.

*Note on the names of the monsters: Gornein is Rhûn-elvish, my invention, derived from Sindarin 'gor' = 'terror' and 'nen' = 'water'. 'Sivara' means nothing as far as I know. Ugaliante is a Rhûn variant of the name of the terrible Ungoliant.

**Note on the names of the heroes: Gimli has named his daughter after Galadriel. The name is shortened to sound more dwarven. Like all dwarves, Gala has a secret true name too in the Khuzdul tongue. 'Mircal' is Quenya, meaning 'Jewelshine'. 'Neldohír' means 'lord of beeches' in Sindarin. Elena and Gilliam have ordinary-sounding hobbit names, but they begin with the Quenyan and Sindarin words for star: 'elen' and 'gil'. And unless I am much mistaken, the real Morningstar, the one we call planet Venus, is none other than Eärendil…

(If you have forgotten: niphredil is the flower that grows with elanor in Lórien and is the heraldic symbol of Lúthien Tinúviel.)


	2. The Company of Mixed Bloods

**Chapter Two: The Company of Mixed Bloods**

The following morning, the siblings woke early and packed for the journey in haste. Elena kept hurrying her brother at the breakfast table, insisting they would be late. It seemed like ages. Elena had hardly slept at all that night, she had been so exited, planning for the journey, making a mental list of things to pack and things to remind her brother to pack, wondering what the Eastern road was like these days, and would they actually go to Rivendell, and what would wait them at the end of the journey. How could they defeat the monsters? What was there in a company of seven people, all young, one yet to be found, that would prevail against creatures that destroyed entire villages? Elena would have been afraid had not Niphredil been coming with them. She was a wizard, and Elena's hero. Since childhood she had heard stories about her and read the letters she had written again and again. Niphredil had been a knight of Gondor, she was an archer better than even Prince Legolas, she had been a commander in the War of Khand, defeated the enemy leader in a duel of swords – but most importantly, she had outwitted Meriadoc Brandybuck and helped Elena's parents to marry…

Gilliam had slept well. He had dreamed of slaying dragons, woken hungry enough to eat one, and his only worry was that Niphredil would shoot the dragon before he got to it with his new sword…

Finally they were ready. Their parents walked with them to the inn, curious to meet the people their children would travel with. Outside they saw horses being fastened to a cart – the horses were good, strongly built workhorses, two of them. The stable boys of the inn were accompanied by a young man clad in black.

'Excuse me,' Elena inquired, 'is this the cart of Niphredil the Green and her company?'

'Yes, it is. How can I help you? My name is Mircal.'

Elena and Eowyn curtsied, Marron and Gilliam bowed deep.

'This is an honor…' Marron began.

'Please, no titles. I serve the Green Lady, and I presume one of you soon will too, since you know of us. Which of you is the Morningstar?'

'We are.' Gilliam said, taking Elena's hand.

'Oh. So _that_ is the surprise she promised us – the Morningstar is two instead of one! Marvellous – that means we only have one unknown to find. The others will be here any moment. Ah, here are the women. Niphredil you know, let me introduce Gala, daughter of Gimli.'

The dwarf-woman was not as they expected, although none of them could be quite sure what, precicely, they had expected. She had no beard. She had very beautiful golden-brown hair. Her face was broad and roundish, yet somehow very handsome – perhaps it was her shining sapphire-blue eyes, her small, round mouth and a sincere expression of interest towards the hobbits. She resembled a hobbit herself in the size and structure of her body. When she extended her hand in greeting, Gilliam noticed that there was something strange about her fingernails. Gala saw his puzzlement, and explained:

'I inherit a hardness of bones from my mother. She is a spirit of stone, although not very great or powerful. But my hair is so strong I could be lifted up by it without a single hair breaking, my teeth can break a steel spoon if I'm not careful, and I use the nails of my right hand as tools – only diamond can cut them. Look, I have a knife, a pick, a drill, a saw, and a screw-driver always in my hand. Of course, most of them are only useful in my small jewellery-works.' Indeed, her fingernails were of the shape of the tools she had named, each long and shining like diamonds.

The cart was given a tent-canvas roof that made it a wagon, and soon it was packed with baggage, bedding and supplies. Only the last member of the company was still missing. Yet Gala took the reins and Niphredil the seat beside her, and the rest of them decided to walk.

'Aren't we going to wait for Neldohír?' Elena asked.

'He is waiting for us at the gates. He dislikes villages and crowds, and chose to spend the night in the woods.'

So the Brandybuck family said their farewells, and the company set forth.

Outside the gate, a tall young man stood by the road. When they looked closer, Elena and Gilliam saw he was indeed a half-ent. His skin was dark brown, his hair looked far too tangled and shineless to belong to an elf, and there was something very strange in his greyish-brown eyes. Even more strange was that he had six fingers in his left hand.

'We are indeed a mixed company, no offence meant!' Gilliam exclaimed.

'None taken. Indeed, we all bear something of our mixed blood in our appearance. I might pass for a strange elf were it not for a branch among my fingers, the lady Gala also has an unique hand, I hear from Niphredil that you consider your feet a hindrance, and your sister has the eyes the prophecy mentions – but it doesn't mention they are shaped like an Easterling's. As for my friend the prince, he does look like a handsome young man, but he tells me his brother already had a beard at his age, but he has not a hair on his skin and never will, thanks to his elven blood.'

'And Niphredil? She looks like any hobbit woman to me.'

Gilliam was not used to talking to anyone as tall as Neldohír, indeed many of the Bree humans were only a head taller than he. Therefore he couldn't see his companion's eyes as he replied:

'She does? A sixty-three years old hobbit woman? About the same age as your mother, I'd fathom.'

'Gosh! I hadn't thought of that – she looks more the age of Elena!' Gilliam exclaimed.

'Indeed. And she will live long, unless she chooses mortality.' Neldohir said, and then fell silent.

Meanwhile, Elena had found she had trouble keeping up with the men – her legs were the shortest, after all. Niphredil invited her to join them on the wagon:

'The horses have a light load, they can manage one more passenger. In fact we ecpected you to join us sooner, but it seems you have developed some stamina keeping up with your brother.'

'Thank you. I just hope Gilliam won't make a joke about us feeble women.' Elena said, as she climbed on the cart.

'You mean the way we sit here and he has to trod on foot? If he does, you just remind him he used up all the leg faculty in your family and didn't leave enough for you!' Gala suggested.

'Good point. We aren't here because of our gender, but because of our size.' Niphredil said,

'Not that I couldn't keep up with a marching army in my best days, but I've become accustomed to a more peaceful gait, walking in the woods with Radagast.' Niphredil said, a hint of her old bragging habit in her voice.

'It's so strange to think that you are really _you_. I mean, that you did everything you wrote in your letters and probably more. I expected you would look older, at least. Is it magic?' Elena asked, then blushed.

'No – at least nothing that I'm doing to myself conciously. It is dangerous to attempt lenghtening one's youth or life artificially – that was part of the tragedy of Númenor. I inherit a long life from my mother. I could let go of it, like Lúthien did, and Mircal's mother the Queen, if I chose to marry a mortal.' Niphredil explained.

'Why aren't you married, by the way? I don't mean to be impolite, for I know you are no old maid – I've heard you had suitors aplenty. Everyone knows you said no to the heir of Bag End.' Elena was intrigued.

'I did, for a good reason. I realized the life I would have with him was not the one I wanted. I was, and still am, too wild for the Shire. Besides, Frodo Gardner got over me well enough. He was so young at the time, younger than you.' the wizard-woman said. Indeed, Frodo Gardner was happily married now, and a father of nine.

'Well, most boys and girls have had a sweetheart or two by my age. I'm worried that I'll become an old maid – no boy has ever liked me at all, I mean if brothers don't count.' Elena confessed.

'You – an old maid? But you are so pretty!' Miss Baggins was aghast.

'You really thinks so, lady Niphredil?'

'No need to call me lady, and yes, I think you are as pretty as Elanor the Fair was when she was your age.' Niphredil assured her.

'Oh, but I have these monster eyes. Evil eyes, they call me. And my hair is not like proper hobbit hair – I've tried to curl it, but all I get is waves that straighten out before the day is through.' Elena touched her hair, a look of dissappointment in her eyes.

'Your eyes are not monster eyes. What does it matter if the one is coffee and the other is tea – you'll have both those who love tea and those who love coffee falling in love with your eyes!' Niphredil tried to cheer her up.

'Tea and coffee – what do you mean?' Gala asked.

'Oh, that's how Gilliam calls my eyes. He's always thinking about food. If he could have a wish, he'd probably wish for knife and fork to be grown into his hands like those jewel-tool nails you have. But I wasn't talking about the colour of my eyes – I meant the shape.' Elena explained, and blushed again. She had a lovely blush that bloomed on her cheeks like summer roses.

'I've been to Khand. Everyone there has eyes like you do, good people and bad people alike. It's just because your people met only the fighters and outlaws of the eastern nations here during the War that they connect your eyes with evil. When we'll get to Rhûn, you'll see every human there has narrow eyes, and they will look at the rest of us and call us staring-round-eyes and stupid-eyes. And they will say you are the only beautiful one among us.' declared the Green Wizard.

'You must be joking.' Elena looked down. She could not believe such a thing could ever happen.

'She isn't. I've met Easterling merchants and bought raw jewels from them. There are no more cheaters among them than among merchants in general, although they do have different customs of trade. If they ask for an impossibly high price it's not because they try to cheat but because they expect you to haggle it down at least by half. And if they are in their own home or tent or wagon they offer tea to the customer, and sweets, and talk like friends. And the most expensive work I ever did went to a chieftain somewhere in far Rhûn – a helmet-shaped crown encrusted with jewels.' Gala assured Elena.

'I can hardly wait to get there! It sound so different, and so interesting, and there are people there with eyes like mine, people that the Bree villagers would call evil-eyes if I brought them home with me, and the monsters kill these people and I want to stop the monsters. I wanted before but now I wish I could be there right now.' Elena spoke fiercely, and Niphredil was reminded that she had the blood of Easterling humans as well as that of Shire warriors in her veins.

'And yet we will not travel faster, for although terrible things are happening, it is nothing like an emergency. The events described in the plea for help occured during the span of ten years. By now, most the humans have left the area and the elves have constructed undersea caves between the islands. The monsters only attack one island at a time and had not found the lairs the time the messages were sent. The most danger is that the dragon finds some human town with a lot of gold – so far it has only satisfied its hunger of blood. In a treasury, the dragon would make a dwelling and perhaps lay eggs. Killing a dragon protecting its lair is a hard job, as you remember if Bilbo's adventure is familiar to you. It will take us all winter to get there, but spring is soon enough, for in winter all crawling creatures slumber and move slowly. The winter at the Sea of Rhûn is cold, the winds are too harsh for a small dragon to fly, the waters too chill for a serpent to swim, and the spiders wrap themselves in their own web for warmth.' Niphredil explained, making it all sound very simple.

'Wouldn't it be easiest, then, to kill the monsters in the winter? Stab the sleeping spider, catch the down-bound dragon, slay the frozen serpent?' Gala asked.

'The elves of Rhûn have tried, but they cannot find their hiding-places. The serpent is likely to be in deep waters, too far for anyone to dive. The dragon may hide in a place that can only be reached on wings, and who knows where the spider is – it has been seen in many different areas but not often in any.' Niphredil answered, gripping her staff tighter.

'Could you find them by magic?' Elena asked.

'No, nor could I defeat them by it. I could shape myself wings and fly, or turn into a fish, but I could take no shape big or strong enough to defeat any one of the monsters. I am no Gandalf, and yet even Gandalf met his match in the Balrog. You and your brother, however, might be able to do something about the spider; you bear the very Phial and blade that were Shelob's bane.' Niphredil looked at Elena, a mysterious shine in her green eyes.

'Shelob is dead? I thought – she might be the spider-monster.' Elena was surprised.

'She is dead. I went up the Nameless Vale – for that is how it is called until it recovers from the Morgul curse – and down the tunnels, in that selfsame armour you wear, and with Sting and the Phial in my hands, fully expecting to meet the monster at every corner, but all I found were dusty bones, and the dried-up corpse of the monster. I could see she had died from the wounds Sam Gamgee gave her. I did find some bundles of web that I thought were her victims, so I opened them carefully, but instead of captives I found spider fetae inside. Helpless, soft-husked, blind, wriggling things the size of a dog. I killed these, for they would grow into monsters. The mother had put corpses inside the egg-covers to nourish the creatures – perhaps it was Shelob's last act before she died – laying eggs and putting all the food she had in store to feed the young. Even the most evil of creatures usually care for their offspring in some twisted way. The unborn things already knew the taste of blood; orc blood, horse blood, human blood. If things had happened a bit different, long ago at Cirith Ungol, perhaps one of the creatures would have known the taste of hobbit blood, and no Niphredil Baggins would ever have come to cut it in pieces.' Her voice was calm, but her eyes looked far ahead, and seemed to be looking at sights invisible to others.

'Heavens! And no Niphredil Baggins would have helped a couple in trouble, and no Gilliam and Elena Brandybuck would ever have been born…' Elena answered, little realizing that if Frodo Baggins had been killed by Shelob, the consequences would have been much worse and affected the whole world.

'Who knows. Well, bygones are bygones and we are all here safe and sound. Let's hope it will be so on our return voyage as well. I have not Quetondo's gift of foresight but I think I may stand a chance against the dragon – at least if it has not heard of Smaug and his armoured chest. Bard of the Lake had but an ordinary bow, I have Cúlind and skill to use it. So unless our little flamer has figured out a way to protect herself with no diamond armour, I will not fear to shoot it the first chance I get. I'm not as vulnerable to the fire either, for under Radagast's tutelage I have learned to master some of my mother's fire-magic. I think we will find a way to beat the sea-serpent as well – I know you all are young, but Gala is armed even when she isn't, at least if she lets her fingernails grow a bit, no offence meant, and if I am "the Green", Neldohír is even greener, and I don't even understand the things he does. I talk to animals, he talks to plants – and they answer! Trees hate fire so we might get the whereabouts of the dragon from them. You may think Mircal has no special skills, him being the youngest and all, but he is the child of remarkable parents. He gets a skill of healing, not from his father, but from his elven-born mother. I mean healing by mental powers, by word and touch. Not that he doesn't use athelas now and then – he carries our supply. I'm know better than trust myself with it – I was once as dependent of it as hobbits of their pipes, and misused it, not worrying how I might hurt myself or others, when there was athelas to heal it all afterwards.' Niphredil's brow furrowed deep in a frown.

'You mean when you were a knight, and went to tournament?' Elena asked.

'No. When I was a woman of bad reputation, and went to have a drink at the inn. I drank too much, got a headache, and rid myself of it with the herb, and so it took me a long time to learn how much is too much. But I wasn't going to talk about myself, I was telling you about Mircal. You may have noticed how he behaves more like a servant than a prince. That is because three years ago, his father the King made him the squire of his elder brother, who was made knight some time before it. Before that, Eldarion too had served as a squire – to king Elessar himself. It is not the Gondorian way to spoil and pamper princes, but rather to teach them early on that their duty is to serve and protect the people. The hands of the king are the hands of a healer… Mircal is a fine young man, and more; he has true courage and honour. He would die for anyone that was under his protection, no matter how insignificant the person were in the eyes of others. His father actually made him swear that he would serve me and those who travel with me, for in Gondor I still have a knighthood and a squire is a squire to all knights. I think it was unnecessary, because I would rather lead a company of equals, myself equal among them. To protect and to serve – is that not a wizard's duty as well?' Niphredil asked, quoting the motto of Gondorian city guards.

'Perhaps. Yet you are the eldest among us, although you appear the youngest! Let us at least by our behaviour show this, or else we'll be forgetting it, and there is no telling what that might lead into!' Gala declared.

'What do you mean?' Niphredil asked.

'I'd rather not say.' Gala pursed her lips.

'You may speak your mind freely. We are family friends and you were the first to follow me. Please tell me what you were thinking, Gala. It might be helpful to my leadership.' Niphredil coaxed her.

'Right. Um. I say this only beacuse you as my elder ask me to. I know a lot about your past. My father has told me, only things he has your permission to tell, you know, and mostly because I too have Maiarin blood and he fears I might do the same mistakes as you did when you were younger. And some of your mistakes wouldn't have happened if you hadn't been what you are. You are wiser now, but we others are still young, and young people fall easily to their temptations. If you were not the leader but one of a group of youngsters, it would be very hard for some.' Gala was actually blushing up to the roots of her golden hair. She looked down at the reins she was holding.

'Oh. I see. Thank you. I had quite forgotten that point.' Niphredil didn't blush, but a shadow seemed to fall over the green light in her eyes.

'I don't understand. Are you talking secrets?' Elena asked.

'Well, not exactly. I might as well tell you, for it may be that you too have to learn something you haven't had the opportunity to learn at Bree. My early youth was quite the opposite to yours – most men I met found me beautiful. They still might, but I try to hide my feminity in the clothes of a wizard. And I was a girl of bad reputation in more ways than one. Some men had the sense and honour to deny the temptation that I offered – these I can mention with pride of having known them and shame of having suspected them to be on my lowly level; Eönwë the Herald of Manwë, Prince Legolas, Lord Elrohír of Rivendell, Frodo Gardner of Bag End, and your father Marron. Noble men each of them in more ways than one. Others, those who share my shame, I will not mention, but there were several. I sincerely hope none of my young companions sees me as a pretty woman, but as a wizard. Wizards do not marry, and besides, my soul is too rugged for the likes of our noble princes - and your brother Gilliam. I would rather they give their attentions to the two of you, and that in a honoured and brotherly manner, at least until our duty is done. I also warn you, Elena, if you suddenly find yourself the beauty of all Rhûn and get proposals from foreign princes, be careful. Not all proposals are marriage proposals, if you get my meaning. Our companions are honest men you need not fear, but in the East you may meet a nice young man who has three women already at home that he calls his wives.' Niphredil smiled a dangerous smile, all teeth.

'You don't say!' Elena exclaimed in obvious alarm.

'That was the situation in southern Khand at least. But not all eastern women are so unfortunate; the enemy commander I defeated was a woman. Ravenna*. She begged me to let her live, but she was a dangerous swordswoman. I asked why she would live – for revenge? She said she would live for her husband and two children. She was clearly wealthy; she wore a lot of gold. So I cut her feet and let her live.' Niphredil told this casually, as if she had said she'd cut someone's hair.

'You what?' Elena was shocked.

'I cut her feet. It's what soldiers call "Morgoth's mercy". The enemy will be disabled and hardly a theat, but gets to stay alive. I defeated Ravenna in a fair duel, as fair as duels can be on a battlefield, and if she had won she would have killed me. And if she had won, I wonder wether I would have begged mercy. I offered her the choice between a swift death and a painful life. She chose life, and I promised to restore her to her children, and her husband if he lived. When she asked if it was likely her children lived, naming her hometown as one we had already conquered, I assured her we had come to liberate the slaves, not to harm children and other unarmed citizens. So I put my sword and hers on her legs above the knees and cut her feet with all my weight upon the blades. Then I bandaged Ravenna's wounds and carried her through a raging battle to our healers. She was my captive and I bound her, and after victory was ours she found all her family safe and sound. She thanked me so I don't think she wanted revenge at all. I did threaten that her arms would be cut if she came for my life, and then how could she hug her little ones?' Niphredil smiled wryly. She missed Ravenna - sometimes a formidable enemy could become closer than a friend.

'But if she can't walk, how could she attack anyone?' Elena asked, a bit afraid of the answer.

'Well, if she were stupid, she might tie herself astride a horse. But she wouldn't be able to mount or dismount without help, so it would be dangerous. It is, however, possible for such a rich woman with a caring family to live in all comfort – she could be carried on a palanquin and the passers-by in the street wouldn't even know she has no feet under her billowing skirts. She could do any chore or pastime that can be done in a seated position – read or paint, write or sing, learn to play an instrument, even ride when helped by husband or servant. I think Ravenna will have a good life, perhaps better than a warrior's. Most my companions accepted my judgement. Frodo Gardner didn't, however.'

'So that's what it was! He told my parents there was a disagreement between you.' Elena exclaimed, fascinated to hear all this gossip about her elders and betters.

'Yes. He insisted I should have let Ravenna go unscathed. Her gratitude might have been enough to restrain her need of revenge. I disagreed, for I know the code of honour of the swordsmen of Khand. They may not live at peace if someone who has humiliated them lives, and mercy would have been a humiliation, as was the conquest of her homeland and the death of her king. Would I live at peace if I was healthy and Elessar had died on that battlefield, and if his killer also lived and was healthy? My heart at least would know no peace, and Ravenna's heart was not far from her sword-arm – I mean that literally, too, for she is left-handed. She was no knight, she was member of an order far more passionate than that of our noble system. Legolas said Ravenna had even more courage than I did, choosing as she did. I asked Frodo whether I should have let the commander live if she were a man, and he told me 'Of course not.' And that was the moment my heart grew cold to his, if it had remained lukewarm until that moment. I could not understand such division by gender. I still don't, and I think it's better in the long run if we women don't cluster among ourselves too much. In fact, I think we must stop for a meal soon, and after that I may join the men on foot and leave you girls to care for the wagon. Gilliam will probably eat himself tired, so ask him to sit up there with you.' Niphredil suggested.

*Note on the name: the woman was named Ravenna for her long, black hair. It is a Westron name (=English), and Westron is spoken by the leaders and nobles even far in the east. Know your enemy…


	3. The Company Completed

**Chapter Three: The Company Completed**

The first day set the company into a habit. They woke early and travelled late, stopping for rest when necessary and for a meal only once during the day. They ate good, warm breakfasts and suppers, though, and Gilliam managed to get used to three meals a day by keeping dried fruit and a water bottle always handy. Elena and Gala rode the wagon most of the time, with the others taking turns at resting on the seat, or seats, when the girls stretched their legs. Mircal and Gala were the best drivers, but Elena and Gilliam knew the basics and were eager to learn more. Niphredil told them that the horses could pull the weight of all of them in the wagon, but not at great speed, or if forced to speed, not for long. Her plan for a bandit attack was simple: the princes would take the two horses and the heaviest bundles, the others would abandon the wagon, taking what they could carry and run into the forest, and she would face the threat with her magic. But no enemy attack was likely. Every night they kept two guards, each taking turns as often as the others, more to practice for wilder times than real reason, and the men slept on the ground, the women in the wagon.

Arnor was not a wilderness anymore, but a thriving land, with three dukes and a Steward ruling it under the crown of Gondor (or Gondor, Arnor, Enedwaith, Umbar, Nardor and West-Khand, as the official name of Elessar's realm now was. Nardor, fire-land, was the area that once had been Mordor, and the fields in the desert, tended by liberated slaves and hopeful immigrants, extended a bit every year. Without the actions of a knight known as Sir Niphredil the White, Western Khand might not be a protectorate.*)

A day's journey after Bree, they came to a crossroads and an inn called 'The Ancient Crown'. That was because some old manuscript mentioned an inn named 'The Crown' on a place near it where there now remained only the piled stones of a ruin. 'The Forsaken Inn', it had been called when Niphredil's father took the road to Rivendell. 'The Ancient Crown' was a new building, and its sign was not an ordinary crown, nor the coin with that name, but constellation known as Elendil's Crown.

'Well, that's a clever symbol for sure. Elessar wears no heavy crown, and the stars of Varda sure are ancient.' Niphredil pointed out.

'It is so big! I mean, so is the Pony, but there at least we have hobbit-sized tables and rooms.' Elena felt suddenly shy. So far four of the company had been of familiar height, for she was used to Gilliam's size, Niphredil was tall but appeared slim and almost frail – although Elena knew it was an illusion, for it took strong arms to draw a bow the size of Cúlind. Even many Breeland men might have trouble trying it! And Gala had become a friend to her already, closer at least than any girl ever had been to her in Bree. It was really nice that the dwarf-maiden and Gilliam got along so well, since he was the one that was up on the bench with them more than the others. His walk was not as brisk as it had been on the first day; he was not used to so much exercise combined with few meals, while Niphredil seemed only to feel younger every day. She never leaned on her staff, but carried it on her shoulder like a spear, and sometimes thumped it on the ground almost playfully. A less convincing wizard was hard to imagine – she looked more like a child on her way to a fancy dress party, trying to be Gandalf but forgetting the false beard and making a robe of her big sister's party dress despite the colour. As she stood on the doorstep of the inn she seemed to regain her dignity. She straightened her hat and gave her bow into Mircal's hands, who stood beside her like a true squire would.

They stepped in without knocking, as was the human way, and surveyed the room. The customers silenced one by one and turned to look at the strange group. There were some dwarves at a low table, the only low table in the room, but most of the people were humans – tall Gondorian immigrants, dark-browed and travel-weary Enedwaith merchants, two golden-haired large men who must be from Rohan, and the short and light-boned people from around the Long Lake.

A plump woman greeted them and asked what they would like- beer or a meal, and perhaps rooms? Gilliam's mouth watered at the mention of food, and Elena nudged him to silence – it wasn't his decision. To his relief, Niphredil announced:

'All of it, please: two rooms each for three, one dwarf-sized if possible, a meal at a table where we all can sit, and beer – how many of you want beer? I'll have tea, but I think the good landlady must have some apple wine stored here, for we walked past her bountiful orchard.' Niphredil spoke the order briskly.

'You are correct.' The landlady admitted. 'I am Gwyneth. Welcome to the Ancient Crown!'

Mircal and Gala asked for wine, Gilliam for beer, Elena for tea and Neldohír cold water. They were shown a human-sized table and the women given some high stools to sit on. The drinks were brought by serving girls, then a meal of stew and bread, cheese and eggs. Neldohír requested fresh vegetables; he never ate meat or anything cooked, and avoided even animal milk and eggs.**

They slept in two human-sized rooms, and were ready to continue the journey after a good breakfast. Soon after the inn they came to a village named Starlight. There were no gates, no fence, just a group of newly-built wood and stone houses gathered together. There seemed to be some kind of a gathering at the marketplace. Niphredil told her company to stop and listen. They heard two male voices arguing:

'And I tell you you aren't going to hang an innocent man!'

'How do you know he is innocent?'

'Because none of you has any reason to blame him for the crime! There is no evidence pointing to him, there has been no hatred between him and the victim, and he was elsewhere when it happened.'

'So he says! But he is a liar!'

'When has he lied to you, Faltor? Or to anyone in Starlight? Tell me. I know of no such incident.'

'He pretended he was human!'

'Is this true, Narannon? What have you told of yourself when you first came here?'

A third voice, deep and resonant, answered:

'I have told the truth. I am Narannon Peradan, half-man, shisakû***, and my mother was a woman of the Black Lands. I have not spoken of my father, no lie nor truth, and no one has asked about him.'

'See! He made you believe he was ordinary! Most the people here know not such fancy foreign words like Peradan or shis-whatever.'

'Having secrets is no crime. Aren't you born a bastard too, Faltor? You should know how hard it can be. One cannot choose one's parents. And until he has been found guilty of the killing in a fair trial, you will not harm Narannon. If you disobey this order, you yourself are a murderer and will have the punishment you deserve.'

'Why are you protecting him? You are no true soldier of Gondor, Marshall, or you would know who is an enemy! That's what comes of promoting wildfolk over the West-born! I have a drop of Numenor in my veins, and I say you are not good enough a chief for us!' The one called Faltor said this like a challenge.

The crowd, silent so far, became a roaring throng of argument and dispute, the people shouting into each other's mouths. It seemed the man named Faltor had a wider following than the one called Marshall. The company still couldn't see the central figures, but they did see a noose of rope hanging from a branch in a nearby pine.

Niphredil forced her way through the crowd, Mircal, Neldohír and Gilliam at her heels.

'I have heard enough! Are you holding a trial or having a shouting competition?'

They could now see the three men: Faltor was a strongly-built Gondorian, Marshall a short and dark Enedwaithian, and Narannon hid in a hooded cloak so that they could only see he was of average height and had a tanned face. He stood calm and silent although it was his life that was under dispute.

'And just who would you be?' Faltor asked.

'Niphredil the Green, last of the Istari. Or if it pleases you, Sir Niphredil the White, Knight of Gondor, Archery commander at the war of Khand.'

'Indeed? All I see is a little girl with a big stick.' Faltor's voice was full of derision.

Niphredil stepped towards the gallows-tree, reaching up with her staff to touch the noose. It burst on fire and burned into ashes fast like a little piece of string.

The crowd was silent once more.

'I have heard you accuse this man of a killing, Faltor. Who has been killed?'

'A young maiden named Merka.'

'Tell me all you know about it. One speaker at a time.'

Faltor and the other villagers told the story, eager to see some kind of justice attempted, if only so that they could criticize it:

Merka, a farmer's daughter, had been on her way home from her betrothed. The youth had seen her go and take the shortcut through a grove of maple. That was the last time Merka was seen alive, about midnight a week ago. The following morning Merka's family noticed she was missing. With the help of the young man they sought the path and found her corpse. She had been stabbed to death with a long and sharp kitchen knife. The knife had been found two days later, thrown into a stream. The villagers each sought their kitchens to see who had lost a knife, but the owner of the knife was not found. It might not even have been made by their local smith - the smith, when asked, said it looked like journeyman work. The girl's body was inspected before burial by her mother – Merka had only one wound, but that one right through her heart. Her purse with a few coins, and her silver buttons and earrings were still on her, so theft had not been the motive. Also she had not been raped, for she had died a virgin. Merka had no enemies that anyone knew of.

Niphredil asked them why they had suspected Narannon. The one to reply, however, was the accused himself.

'Because of what I am. I am a half-orc, although I prefer to call myself half-man.' Narannon told her.

'I see.'

'Look, then.' Narannon lifted the hood from his head, revealing a balding head of grey hair, malformed ears, squinting eyes, thin lips and a broken nose. He didn't look evil or stupid, but not particularly handsome either.

'And where were you, Narannon, the night Merka died?' Niphredil asked.

'I was drinking my home-brewed beer with my neighbour, Sergen. We talked late into the small hours of morning, and then he went home and I fell asleep in my chair. I was inside my own home all night, although since I live alone, no one can prove it. But nobody saw me leave home, either. And Sergen was with me at the time Merka walked home. Sergen's wife can prove how late he came home. With very rich language, actually.' Narannon smiled.

'Very good. Narannon, do you have any opinion who killed Merka?' The wizard-woman asked.

'No. I knew her by name only, but I think she had no enemies in Starlight village. This is a peaceful place and a murder has never happened here, not in the time I've lived here at least, and that is almost from the beginning.' Narannon informed her.

'So you think it might have been an outsider.' This was not exactly a question.

'Yes. But again, I have no idea who. No suspicious people have passed through here that we know of, only merchants and immigrants, and a messenger the day before Merka died.' the half-orc said.

'I would say this little wizard appears quite suspicious herself! How do we know she is not an evil wizard, like Saruman?' Faltor put in.

'Because she is a knight of Gondor, and I serve her as a squire!' Mircal declared, opening his black cloak to reveal the white tree embroidered on his tunic.

'Would I dare wear this cloth if I had no right to it, I ask you? And would the king make a knight of a woman unless she deserved it? Sir Niphredil is older than she looks, so you may have forgotten the stories that once were told about the White Knight.'

'I have not forgotten.' Marshall knelt down.

'I may be only a common soldier born in Enedwaith, but I remember her from the years she spent in Gondor after the Khand war. You were our hero, all of us who were not Gondorian born but yet wished to serve the King. And I remember the story of your father. You taught us that one's birth and past are not what matters, the most important is a faithful heart.' There were tears in the old soldier's eyes.

'Thank you. My heart is still faithful, although I now serve all peoples as I once served Elessar and his realms.' Niphredil told him. 'Please stand up.'

'Then pass judgement on this man, as you are highest in position here, unless one of your companions is higher?' Marshall looked at the Company, one by one.

'None is.' Mircal said quickly. He did not wish to be revealed as a prince of royal blood.

'Hear my decision: this man is innocent and you may not put him to another trial without a good reason. He is a citizen of Arnor since he has lived here – how long?' Niphredil asked.

'Fifteen years.' Marshall answered.

'I repeat: he is a citizen. He is free to live where he wishes without being persecuted. Narannon Firegate, do you wish to continue living in this village? There is an option: I have need of help on my voyage so I would welcome you to join our company. You would get food and whatever lodging the rest of us have, and treatment as an equal. Later on, there might be payment in money, but also a danger.' Niphredil offered, knowing this was all meant to be.

'I have no wish to remain here. I will pay my rent to my landlord and pack some possessions, and join you in this place. I thank you kindly for this opportunity and I promise that I will give you all the help I can. I am old, but not feeble.' Narannon flexed his arms.

'You are welcome. Understand that I am not doing this out of charity but out of real need of you. People of Starlight village, the meeting is over. Go about your business and continue your market day. I offer my commiserations to the mourners of Merka and my sincere wish that the killer is found and punished.' Niphredil spread her arms in a gesture of benediction.

Slowly the crowd dispersed, some relieved no hanging took place, others frustrated at losing their scapegoat, and some muttering lewd suggestions about what the 'wizard-girl' needed a half-orc for. Elena, Gilliam and Gala had heard everything and seen most of it too, standing on the bench of the wagon.

'So he is the seventh of us. Brough by fate indeed!' Gala remarked.

'Yes. Think about what would have happened if we hadn't been here just now!' Gilliam shuddered,

'They would have hanged him, Marshall was losing in the argument.' Gala stated her firm opinion.

'Yes, they would. He sounded like a good person. What did he look like?' Elena asked the men. Niphredil looked thoughtful so nobody disturbed her.

'Well, he had strange ears, with uneven edges, like they had been torn, only they matched each other, so he must have been born with them. And his hair was grey. He looked old.' Neldohír described Narannon.

'He must be. He must have been born soon after the Ring War, after that time there have been no orcs in the Black Lands.' Mircal told them.

'He looks old, yes, but orcs get wrinkled faces at a young age. Unless they are killed, they are a long-lived race. They are descendants of elves, twisted by Morgoth's madness. Narannon can yet be made into a warrior. I think he has never wielded a weapon, choosing to disown his enemy blood. I have no doubt his mother was raped.' Niphredil explained.

At this, Elena and Gilliam met each other's eyes. They remembered the tragedy of their grandmother Lily Maggot. Having been raped by a human, she died giving birth to Eowyn, their mother, who was then adopted by Lily's bethroted, Merry Brandybuck. Despite her having no Brandybuck blood Merry had opposed his daughter's marriage plans with her 'cousin' Marron. When Niphredil and Tom Bombadil helped the siblings' parents to get each other, everyone had felt the last traces of Lily's misfortune had dissolved.

*Historical note: of course I'm being imaginative here, but I really think Elessar extended his kingdom quite a bit – I could say his rule was a Golden Age for mankind, at least for his subjects – something like King David's Israel, only on a larger scale. Then Eldarion would be the Solomon of peace… or I could compare it to the United Kingdom itself, a realm that still holds some of its imperial might, and Tolkien lived it true – born in South Africa, later corresponding with his son Christopher whom the war took around the world…

**Sosiological note: This has nothing to do with the 'living food' diet some modern people choose for ethical reasons or because of the belief that it is good for them. Neldohír is half Ent, he doesn't need to drink the Fangorn waters and he can eat solid food (do ents have teeth? He does, anyway), but Ents never use fire and certainly no animal-origin ingredients in their drinks, except maybe honey which is prepared by bees but contains only flower meads. Neldohír eats as he does because that is what his body needs. Unlike a vegan, he has no objection to killing animals or enemies.

***Linguistical note: 'Narannon Peradan' is Sindarin, meaning: 'Firegate half-human'. 'Shisakû' is my own invention of the black speech, also meaning 'half-human' and an insult used by full-blood orcs. We know from 'The Scouring of the Shire', however, that 'Sharkû' means 'old man' so I just presumed 'kû' was the part meaning 'man/human'.


	4. The Shadow of Weathertop

**Chapter Four: The Shadow of Weathertop**

The place now know as Amon Sûl too had changed since Niphredil had walked this road thirty-five years ago. Then, there had been only a small watch tower and some barracks. Now there was a fortress on the hill-top and a sprawling town circling the hill. A manor-house on the hillside belonged to the Duke, who also commanded the fortress. The wizard, however, was not interested in the Gondorians – her mission had nothing to do with Elessar's realm. Therefore she decided it was best if they avoided the town entirely – there might be people there who would recognise Prince Mircal, and unnecessary courtesy would only slow their journey. They drove the wagon through the outskirts of the town to the eastern side of the hill, where a forest remained. They made camp just like all other nights in the wild. Narannon was now one of the group, for although he was older than the others, he liked young company and was glad the other mixed bloods accepted him. He had been told of the mission, of course, and was proud to be a part of it. He said he had wandered some when he was younger and wouldn't mind returning to a life outdoors. None of the ailments of age bothered him – but he was even older they had thought, about seventy, born in Saruman's Isengard. One of the fallen wizard's experiments.

Niphredil took the first watch after supper. Elena went to climb part of the way up the uninhabited side of the hill, and sometime after she had gone, Gilliam also walked into the forest. Niphredil wasn't worried; it was good the siblings kept together, for after all, they were the Morningstar together.

Elena climbed as high as she dared without coming into the view of the watchmen who must stand on the fortress walls. She breathed deep and looked at the familiar stars above her.

_I am elen-a, _she thought, _Elena the Morningstar. I wonder what it means. Eärendil be with me and Elbereth guard my path, _she prayed, putting her hand on the pocket that held the Phial. _I am the Morningstar and so is Gilliam. What is it that awaits us beyond the Misty Mountains, beyond the Elven Woods and the Long Lake, far in the East? Somewhere there the mountains must be, _she stared into the eastern horizon, _and beyond them is our adventure. Shall we slay spiders like Bilbo, and must we too outwit a dragon? I'm glad we have a grand company. Mircal has a spear and a shield he keeps in the wagon, Neldohír an elven sword that glowed a bit when Narannon touched it. Narannon, he has a two-bladed axe, one blade for woodchopping and the other for battle. Neldohír and Narannon get along well, and they joke their weapons are mortal enemies – an orc-hating sword and an Ent-chopping axe. Gala has a dwarf weapon the like of which I have never seen – a battle-hammer. She holds it either two-handed or in her left hand, which is the stronger. Her right hand is the precise one. And Gilliam has Sting, Niphredil the bow Cúlind. I am the only one unarmed. But I think I would be more afraid if I had some sharp weapon I couldn't use anyway. At least I have the mithril mail. _

Elena stood long under the stars, thinking about the road ahead. Then she made her way down. Niphredil stood at the edge of the clearing, staring into the darkness, perhaps waiting for Elena.

'Here I am', the girl said, stepping into the circle of firelight.

'Elena? But I thought you went to bed already. I heard somebody going into the wagon. Where is Gilliam?' The half-Maia asked.

'Gilliam? Is he missing?' Elena asked, worried now.

'I thought he followed you uphill. And then I heard a hobbit going into the wagon, and I thought it was you, and so I wondered where Gilliam was and have been waiting for him.' Niphredil explained.

'Then Gilliam must be in the wagon and there is no need to worry.' Elena assured Niphredil.

'Is there? He has been there a long time. Alone with Gala.' Worry darkened the wizard-woman's features.

'So what? My brother is a honourable person.' Elena said defiantly.

'So is Gala. Yet I worry. But it is not my business. It is your brother and your sleeping place, so go there and talk with them. I'll be keeping watch – for all dangers.' Niphredil returned to the fire.

Elena obeyed, reading more alarm in Niphredil's eyes than her voice betrayed. She walked to the wagon. Inside, she heard no voices, only the heavy breath of two people. Perhaps Gilliam had fallen asleep? She climbed up, making the floor creak. When her eyes accustomed to the dim light, she saw Gala and Gilliam lie down in a tight embrace. Their breathing was heavy, but also fast in a disturbing way. Gilliam's body was on top of Gala's in a strange position, and the floor creaked under them as they moved in a steady rhythm. They hadn't noticed Elena.

Elena screamed.

Then Gala screamed, and Gilliam threw himself away from the dwarf-girl and up.

'Elena! I can explain!'

'Why do you have to explain? She is your sister, not your wife.' Gala pointed out.

'I mean, we did nothing!' Gilliam said.

'At least, nothing forbidden.' Gala softened the claim.

'Yes. We love each other so we wanted to hold each other, for once. That is all.' Gilliam's face was flushed, and sweat beaded on his forehead.

Elena was puzzled. Of course it was all. What did they think she had thought? But she forced herself to say:

'I see. Now, would you mind if I went to sleep? In my own bed, please.' She said firmly.

'Of course. Good night, Elena. Good night, Gala. Sleep well.' Gilliam said, and went out before the girls had time to reply. Elena and Gala stared after him in silence. Suddenly the dwarf girl started giggling in spasms.

'Gala?'

The other managed finally to control herself. Wiping tears of laughter from her eyes, she explained:

'I'm sorry, Elena. These are no laughing matters. But don't you think Gilliam is a bit funny when he's embarrassed?'

'Oh, yes, he is! More than a bit. But I don't get it. Why was he so embarrassed?' Elena was truly confused now.

'Why did you scream?' Gala threw back.

'I don't know. I thought, like, something was wrong with you – some kind of nervous attac, the way you moved.'

Gala started giggling again. Elena blushed, knowing she had said something silly.

'Nervous attack! Gosh, you Hobbits amaze me! You really didn't think that we might be making love?' Gala was trying hard not to collapse into another giggle fit.

'Making what?'

'Love.'

'I heard you. But how can one make it? I thought one either loves or doesn't. Not even magic can make you love someone you don't, except in fairy stories.' Elena tried to be logical about it.

'Sweet little Elena. You really don't know? Hasn't your mother told you? I thought she was a midwife.' Gala asked, patiently-

'What has that got to do with it? Of course I know what to do to help a woman giving birth. You're not pregnant.' Elena didn't understand Gala's meaning.

'No. But didn't you think that I might be getting myself pregnant?' Gala was getting frustrated at having to explain things as if to a child.

'Oh.'

And for a while, Elena said nothing more.

'So that's how it happens. Being close like that. I always thought – I thought that it would hurt, like giving birth does. And that it has nothing to do with love, but it's kind of a duty after one is married. I never thought somebody would do it for fun, or when it was forbidden, except evil men.' The hobbit lass finally mused, half to herself.

'Is that what your mother told you?' Gala asked, fascinated now.

'No. She never told me very much. She said I wasn't ready yet, that she would tell me when I was of age.' Elena admitted. She was thirty-two, and hobbits came of age at thirty-three.

'She was probably right. You are almost a child still, Elena. But you are also my friend. I love you as much as I love Gilliam. We have been talking, he and I, and we plan to get married if we survive this adventure. We don't know where we will live, but we thought that if you wish, you could live with us. I mean, I'm quite affluent and likely to get more money than one family can spend once I become a master smith. So if you like we could all live together, and your husband, too.' Gala offered generously.

'Oh, Gala! I would love it. Especially if I never marry. I've been kind of thinking I might rather not.' Elena said.

'Despite what you just learned from me?' Gala asked, smirking.

'Yes. I would like to be free, like Niphredil. She goes where she wants to go and does whatever she wants to do.' Elena's eyes shone.

'Well, she is a wizard.' the dwarf-maiden sounded doubtful.

'Yes, but she was like that already as a child. She left Tol Eresseä at the age of twenty-six, finding it too small a world for her, and the Blessed Realm too close a temptation. Before that, she says she was a troublesome child. I was always nice and polite, but I don't want to be too nice and polite the rest of my life. I'm on my way to adventure!' Elena declared defiantly.

'Monsters beware! We are coming for you!' Gala flexed her tool hand.

Now they both giggled.

Niphredil heard the merry sound as she came from watch duty; Gilliam had taken the early morning watch.

'What? You are still awake at this hour? Gala, might I remind you that you have the watch tomorrow evening. You should be getting rest.'

'Oh. Sorry. I forgot. We were just talking.' Gala apologized.

'Of course you were. But I know what you and Gilliam did before that. You girls woke all the others with those screams, but I managed to convince them that Gilliam had played a ghost-prank on you. Then he came to me and whispered his confession.' Niphredil looked furious now.

'Please, don't be angry.' Gala begged.

'What for? Because you hugged a bit too passionately?_ I _am in no position to be angry for _that_. But please be patient. We have a long road ahead, and that means a long engagement, if indeed you plan to marry.' Niphredil's face broke into a wide grin.

'Engagement?' Gala stared at her elder friend.

'I think that might be a good idea. Help you be faithful in your love and all that. You are a jewel-smith, so you could make the rings yourself. You shall find all materials you could wish for in Rivendell, and I might be able to negotiate some mithril as a gift.'

'Oh, Niphredil! That is too much!' Gala was taken aback.

'You mean you are not serious enough to get engaged?' Niphredil frowned again.

'No, I mean you are far to kind.' the young dwarf explained.

'Generousity is in my blood, from the Baggins side.' The wizard-woman grinned.

'I will tell Gilliam tomorrow.' Gala promised.

'Perhaps you had better wait a bit. Let him cool down. His emotions are quite mixed right now. He loves you, but he is also embarrassed. Let his wounded pride heal.' Niphredil suggested.


	5. The Lords of Rivendell

**Chapter five: The Lords of Rivendell**

'Elrond, you built us Rivendell,

A place to love, a place to dwell

Elrond, you ruled in the homely home

That comforted all who lonely roam.

'Elrond, you left us Rivendell,

The valley that, the stories tell

Is well loved as the land of song

That waits after a road so long.

'But no longer is a homely home

The vale to which the lonely roam,

For here the lonely lords do dwell

The three of whom the stories tell:

'Celeborn who made his home

Where wild are the woods to roam

Would not take the road so long

Which leads into West of the Song.

'Elrond gave, so annals tell

Life to sons who still here dwell

The two heirs of Rivendell

The twin lords of Rivendell.

'Elladan who will wait long

Before he sings the wedding song

Elrohír, who cannot tell

Where his loved one might now dwell.

'To the vale but few do roam

And still we love to call it home

Perhaps it now sings a sadder song

We fear the lords may not rule long.'

Niphredil half spoke, half sang the poem. Her voice was not very beautiful, but somehow the word touched her companions. As she spoke the last 'long', they saw the Ford open before them.

'Oh, how sad a poem!' Elena exclaimed.

'Indeed. Where did you learn it?' Neldohír asked.

'I wrote it myself the last time I visited here. Together with your mother, actually. Neldoren taught me the form in which seven words always end the lines, repeated each as many times.'*

They crossed the Ford and were soon on the path. Halfway up the ridge they were met by guards.

'Who comes?' They asked.

'Far is the time when song greeted visitors here instead of spears and arrows. I am Niphredil the Green and here are my companions: Gilliam and Elena Brandybuck, siblings from Bree and my distant relatives. Neldohír, son of Neldoren, daughter of Thingol. Galadriel, daughter of Gimli, son of Glóin, and journeyman jewelsmith. Mircal son of Elessar, prince of Gondor. And Narannon Peradan from Starlight Village.' They all did their bows and curtsies. The guardsmen shoved their respect by bowing to both princes. At the sound of Narannon's name they frowned. The one in charge said:

'We greet you all but we may not welcome you until we have seen the face of this Peradan. Please remove your hood.'

Narannon obeyed.

'Yrch! He has orcish blood. Is he your prisoner?' The guard asked, not bothering to hide his disgust.

'No, he is my friend. I trust him more than I trust you.' Niphredil stated.

'A wizard ought to know better. No orc nor half-orc may enter Rivendell.'

'Indeed? Then I will not step further either.'

'Nor I,' declared Neldohír.

'Very well. The rest of you may come if you wish.'

'We would rather not be separate', Niphredil said, 'but some of us could use your hospitality and take a week or three practicing their weapon skills, and get us gear to cross the mountains. I think it is best if we do it like this: Mircal, you are the nephew of Elladan and Elrohir, and the son of Celeborn's granddaughter. I think you will be glad to meet your relatives. Take the siblings and Gala with you. I put them under your responsibility as the strongest and the one of highest position, but remember your age and remain humble. I will make a camp in the hill east from Rivendell, with Neldohír and Narannon, and we will spend our time practicing our battle skills. You should also take the opportunity to ask the elves teach you what they can. Elena, it would be good if some small weapon would be found for you. Like a knife. But Gala and Gilliam also have other business, and because I do not wish you to beg for gifts if none are freely given, I give Gilliam and Elena my purse.' Niphredil gave Elena a bag so heavy with gold that the young maiden had to hold it with two hands.

'Thanks! Um, Gilliam, would you please carry this?' The girl asked, staggering with the weight.

Soon the farewells were said and Niphredil promised she would come for them when the weather was good to continue the journey, not before two weeks had passed but certainly before a full month was gone.

Niphredil, Neldohír and Narannon took as much baggage as they could carry, leaving the wagon to the others. Then they picked a path that led up into the forested hills and away from the Elven Realm. Elena sighed.

'This is not as I imagined. I wonder if Niphredil's song is true.'

'Cheer up! Just look at the landscape – that at least is no disappointment,' Gilliam said.

'Yes, my love. But I at least wished they would all be here when –' Gala began. Gilliam hushed her;

'Elena knows, but Mircal doen't. Let's surprise him and everyone else!'

The lords of Rivendell stood at the front door of the Last Homely House. As they had proceeded through the valley, more and more elves had joined them. When Mircal saw his relatives, he forgot all dignity and ran to them.

'Elladan! Elrohír! Lord Celeborn! I haven't seen you since I was a kid!' He yelled, reaching out to embrace them.

'And we see that you have grown into a man, Mircal.' Elladan hugged his nephew tightly. Elrohír was more reserved in his greeting, and Celeborn looked at the company in deep concern.

'Where are the rest of you? We heard from Neldohír's family that he had joined you, and I would be surprised if the seventh member was not found by now. And where is Niphredil the Green?'

'Your guardsmen did not let our seventh member enter the valley.' Gala explained.

'Why?'

'Because Narannon is half orc.' Mircal said gravely.

'I see. Does he speak the black speech?' Celeborn asked.

'He knows it, but he never speaks it. Why do you ask?' the prince inquired.

'It has been decided that that evil speech must never be spoken here. That is why orcs, no matter their innocence, are not welcome. But that doesn't explain why Niphredil and Neldohír are absent, too.' Celeborn still did not smile.

'You think we would leave our companion alone, your lordship? We care for him. They shall spend the time practicing their battle skills, and hunting, and we intend to do the same.' Gilliam declared.

'Really? Perhaps it is best this way, then. Our subjects would feel uncomfortable seeing Narannon wield a weapon here. We will help you as best we can, but we have no match to the White Knight among our masters.' Celeborn told them. Elena was suddenly very proud of her hero.

They enjoyed their stay in Rivendell to the full. Gala made friends with the two elven smiths who still remained there – all the greatest masters of that craft, those who had reforged Narsil into Andúril, had been Noldor and followed Elrond beyond the sea. One of the remaining two was a gold-smith, the other a maker of tools and weapons. Gala and Elena gave the latter the task to make the hobbit maiden a blade, smaller than Sting but sharp. The smith suggested he make two such blades - one for both hands, or one for throwing and the other for stabbing. The gold-smith Gala approached in secret, and bought mithril and two diamonds from him. Then she used his forge and tools to craft two rings, flat bands of mithril with a decoration pattern of round holes drilled through them and a roundish-cut diamond each. Gala sold the leftover mithril shards back to the smith – every grain of the metal was precious.

On the tenth day they spent there the rings were ready, and Gilliam and Gala proclaimed their engagement. A feast was arranged unbelievably fast, for the following day, and all the people of Rivendell celebrated the union. There had been no engagement feast or a wedding in Rivendell for decades, and the younger musicians actually had trouble recalling some of the traditional songs.

The young couple received many gifts; from the lords of Rivendell, they got a small box full of jewels. Celeborn told Gala that she should design them herself into decorations for her and her beloved, and perhaps later their children. Elena had wondered long what she might give, and had even considered offering Gala to wear the mithil mail. But she knew the prophecy ordered it for the Morningstar. In the end, she chose a simple gift; she had asked the elf ladies to teach her their way of doing embroidery while she waited for her knives to be prepared. So she embroidered a silken veil Gala could use on her wedding day, and some handkerchiefs with their initials in curling elvish letters – GG for Gala daughter of Gimli, and GB for Gilliam Brandybuck. Gala was genuinely grateful for these, since she knew absolutely nothing about embroidery and couldn't even sew much with her special fingernals – not that she would have liked to. That was not her craft. But if Elena were going to live with them one day, at least there would be someone to do such work in the family. Gilliam too was grateful, and also quite exited – the food and drink served at the feast alone were enough to make it a perfect day. Mircal's gift was royal indeed: two wine goblets of gold decorated with emeralds and rubies in a fine pattern of grapevine. When asked where he got them, he admitted he had purchased them from some Rangers - a few of these hardy men still dwelled in Rivendell, choosing the domain of elves rather than the realm of Elessar.

Towards the end of the feast, a surprise guest appeared; Neldohír, the youngest Prince of the Wood. He was wearing his best clothes and carrying three bundles.

'I apologise for entering this hall uninvited. Am I welcome?' He asked.

'You are welcome here, your highness. How did you know of the feast?' Elladan asked.

'Our wizard has her sources of information, and the trees in the valley whispered of many hunters and long-forgotten songs. I have come to bring my congratulations and those of my two companions. Niphredil the Green says that she will not leave Narannon alone, but they feel no bitterness towards you.' Neldored spoke in a quiet yet firm voice, looking Elladan in the eyes.

'Then their honour puts our hospitality to shame. We have just finished giving gifts to the couple. Would you like to join us at the table, or perhaps offer a song? I remember the magic of your wordless voice.' Celeborn stated.

'The gift-giving is not finished before I have given mine and those of my companions, my lords!' Neldohír declared.

He opened the first parcel and revealed a wooden pan-flute.

'These are no ordinary pipes. I have carved them myself and they call each a different bird. The trush, the nightingale, the raven, the kestrel, and the eagle. It may be useful to you some day, perhaps in Rhûn.' The half-Ent handed the pipes to Gilliam.

'An eagle-call? Would Gwaihir respond to it?' Gilliam was awed.

'Only if he was close enough to hear it. Niphredil, I think, could call him from almost anywhere. Which brings me to her gift.' Neldohír opened the second parcel. It contained one black-fletched arrow.

'This arrow is one of the two remaining Black Arrows of Valimar, the others Niphredil has already given away. They symbolize a warning but also a plea for help. So if you some day shall need her help, send this arrow to her. Any kestrel or eagle summoned by the flute will take it to her, and I will teach you how to call other falcon birds by the kestrel pipe too. And last of all, there is Narannon's gift. He used the skill of the only profession he has ever mastered to make you these, and in only ten days.' He took out two pairs of shoes.

The first one was a sturdy pair of fur-lined winter shoes in Gilliam's size.

'Niphredil told us you would need these once snow is on the ground.' Neldohír explained.

The second pair was made for Gala. She already had dwarven walking shoes, so Narannon had fashioned her graceful boots of white leather trimmed with ermine.

'My friend the shoemaker would be honoured if you wore these today, and in any feasts you may attend, perhaps even on your wedding day.' The Prince of the Wood said.

'Oh! They are so beautiful. Thank you, and thank the others, too. I had not given a thought to the fact that Narannon must have a craft, too. We do not deserve this. I promise I will wear them proudly.' Gala said.

'I thank you all too. I wonder if we should leave the most precious gifts here in Rivendell – I mean, we are going to fight monsters, among them a gold-hungry dragon. The goblets, the jewels, perhaps these boots and that pretty veil Elena made too – it would be terrible if they got torn.' Gilliam pointed out.

'On the other hand, if our return is delayed, I would like to have them with me – the veil and boots, I mean. These would interest no dragon. Perhaps I might need them.' Gala argued.

'Oh. I see.' Gilliam blushed. His bethrothed kissed him, laughing for pure joy.

Neldohír refused to eat or drink, or to join the songs and dances. He still had his dislike for crowds, although the experience at Starlight had strenghtened his confidence – none of the people had noticed his strangeness, which was mild compared to poor Narannon, Narannon who had stood so bold and calm among his accusers. Before he departed the lords of Rivendell gave him a message of thanks and apologies, declaring the companions could now all come into the valley if they wished. No artisan who made such beautiful things as Gala's boots, and gave them as a gift of friendship at a party he was not invited to, could have an evil heart – the people of Rivendell would certainly understand.

But for two weeks all three remained in the hills. October ended, the last leaves lost their green to autumn colours, branches were barer day by day. In the streams red leaves floated, and the hills shed their radiant colours under darkening skies. Ents would have called the season 'night-of-the-growing-year-when-trees-fall-asleep'** and much more words like that, Neldohír thought. They practiced with their weapons, and even Neldohír learned to hunt. Narannon was getting swift with his axe and Neldohír now lost their practice fights almost as often as his friend. But Niphredil beat them both, not only in archery contests, but facing them both at the same time with only her staff for a weapon. At first they thought she used some magic, but she told them the only spell was one that prevented the pinewood from breaking. It didn't harm their blades, but Niphredil always managed to throw their weapons from their hands.

The Green Wizard assured them she wasn't invincible;

'I would fear to face Gala in a battle – she would cut my staff in two with her knife and saw fingers, and unstring my bow with a touch! And then she would beat me senseless with the hammer. She is half maiarin like I, of lesser blood perhaps, but my hobbit half is no match for the dwarf in her!'

In the valley, Gala and Gilliam enjoyed their romance, but Mircal made sure they honed their battle skills, too. He had taken the responsibility to find teachers and volunteer opponents for the three youngsters, and would make sure they attended the lessons he arranged. Sometimes Elladan and Elrohír themselves did the teaching. The elven smith had seen Elena succeed well in a competition of throwing darts at the engagement feast, and offered her not two but four knives; one a dagger, the others a shape the elves called wing-dagger that could be either held or thrown at an enemy. Elena had indeed the talent fairly common among hobbits to hit what she aimed, be it with a stone or a knife that she had never tried before. She was not strong enough to draw a large bow like Niphredil, so the knives were a perfect choice. She began to feel herself quite a warrior, with two knive-hilts hanging from the pearly belt of her mithril armour and the other two strapped to her arms.

'Boots would be another place to strap them to, if only you wore any!' The smith grinned.

The name of the smith was Angil***, and he and Elena became friends. Angil was hundreds of years old, but looked about Mircal's age. Mircal spent most of his free time with his relatives. For a while, the Company was scattered. One day, when Angil was showing Elena some metal statuettes - made by a technique that was now lost - in one of the smaller halls, a woman entered. She looked familiar, and Elena suddenly realised she resembled the images of Queen Arwen on the golden coins in Niphredil's purse. She had brown hair piled in an orderly style on her head, decorated with feathers and diamonds. Her face was pale and her deep blue eyes somehow like Mircal's but more beautiful. She was clothed in flowing robes of blue satin, embroidered more richly in gold and silver than any woman's robes she had seen even at the feast. Elena curtsied in an awkward imitation of a formal elven movement, and remained down, for she felt this woman must be an important person, a relative of the lords, perhaps.

'You may rise, Elena Morningstar. Your fame will be greater than mine, here in the North at least. I am Calammiriel****, daughter of Elessar.'

'Oh! You are Mircal's sister! He has mentioned you once or twice. Your highness.'

'I am his twin. Please call me Miriel, my brother does, and all his friends.'

'All right – Miriel. I had no idea we would meet you here!'

'I came in secret, to surprise my brother. He _was_ quite surprised. I often come and go about in secret, and back home I am called 'the veiled princess'. It is very practical – when I travel away I give my maid my clothes and only the family and trusted friends know she isn't me. I bet you hadn't even heard there is a princess in Gondor before Mircal told you.'

'It's true. I hadn't, although I recall having heard your father the King had three children.'

'I would love to talk more with you, and perhaps I shall have the opportunity later. But I came here to find Angil, for I would request him to do some small work for me.'

'I would be honoured, your highness', Angil said, and led the princess towards the smithy.

However, Elena didn't see Miriel again, and Angil too seemed to be busy with whatever the princess had asked him to do. One day, waiting outside the smithy door for Angil to take her to a walk in the gardens as he had promised, Mircal came to her.

'Hello, Elena! Why are you sitting here when it's such a beautiful day out there?'

'It is a beautiful day, and Angil promised to take me for a walk, but he is working on something secret for your sister.'

'I see. I think I know what it is Miriel asked him, and if I had her permission I would tell you. It is nothing we need to worry about, however. I'll go in and ask if it's all right that I take you for a walk instead.' He went in came back soon.

'Angil is very sorry, but he has promised to work as fast as he can – Miriel is in a hurry. He had completely forgotten about the walk. Come now, Elena, don't look so glum! Is my company such a disappointment?'

'No, but the lack of Angil's is.' Elena looked at her hairy toes.

'I see. Is it possible that our little Elena could be jealous?' Mircal teased her.

'What! On Friday the first and no sooner!' Elena shouted, her face turning red.

'Pardon?'

'Oh, it's just a hobbit way of saying 'never'. You see, our calendar has no Friday the first.' Elena explained, ashamed of her outburst now.

'I see. So what do you feel for Angil?' Mircal inquired.

'Well, I do like him. He worked hard to make me the knives, and would take no payment, so I owe him a favour and he is a good friend. But I'm not jealous, because I find no reason to be. It is only business he has with Miriel, or else he would tell me. It _is_ business, isn't it, Mircal?' Elena sounded worried now.

'It must be, and nothing personal most likely. Miriel loves to have secrets even when there is no need. Besides, if my sister wanted a romantic gift, would she have an ironworker do it? When Rivendell has, not only Master Mallar, but Gala daughter of Gimli as well?' Mircal pointed out with logic worthy of his wise parents.

'What is your sister like? I mean behind her secrets.' Elena asked.

'Well, she doesn't share everything even with her family. Our mother knows her best. Calammiriel was my closest playmate when we were children. Back then, she was like any little girl. However, something happened. When she was first dressed in a grown woman's gown, and introduced to the court – she hated it all. The young men who sought her attention only because she was a beautiful princess, the superficial conversation of the noble young ladies, the older ladies and their attempts to introduce her to suitable husband-candidates, and most of all the loss of privacy. In the citadel a retinue of ladies-in-waiting always followed her, out in the city she could go nowhere without guards surrounding her. So she ran away, and I helped her. I gave her some of my ordinary clothes, a boy's clothes, and she left the City as a young vagabond – for my clothes were never prettier than those of a stableboy. You see, my father knew how a prince should be raised humble, from his own experience. Of princesses, however, his only model was my mother. Too bad Calammiriel did not fit the mould. I got into trouble having helped her, and into more trouble when my father refused to believe I had no idea of Miriel's whereabouts. Two years went by, and the people knew only that the princess had travelled away. She returned to Eldarion's knightmaking, dressed and veiled like an Umbarian lady, with two tan-faced handmaidens beside her. Only my mother noticed the illusion: Calammiriel was not the veiled woman, but the taller handmaiden, her skin baked brown by the southern sun, her hair dyed dark and her body now that of a woman grown. My parents forgave her everything and even allowed her to keep this new privacy. So Calammiriel travels, always in safe company, from friendly land to another, on plans and errands know to her alone. And only those who know her or her mother see when the princess they meet is real and when an illusion. She has at least four servants who look like her when royally dressed – and she makes sure that only one princess can be seen at a time. As far as the people are concerned, she has only left Gondor in formal parades.' Mircal told the story of his sister convincingly - perhaps a bit too convincingly, as if he had practiced it many times.

Elena didn't meet Miriel again. She had left soon after Angil had prepared whatever work the princess had requested, without even meeting Celeborn. Elena wondered if the princess had been the real one, or one of her maidens. Celeborn had left Rivendell too, for a while. Nobody was sure why.

*I suppose we would call it a _sestina_. It is an italian invention. I learned to love it from Neil Gaiman. (Smoke and Mirrors.) I'm not sure if rhyming makes this an improper sestina.

**With this, I approve of Americans using the word 'fall' in their Tolkien fanfiction to mean 'autumn'. (Meriadoc is really Kalímac and all that other cool westron translation stuff the professor thought up for the appendixes…)

*** 'Ironstar'. Sindarin.

**** 'Woman crowned with shining jewels'. Quenyan. But also the feminine mirror-name derived from 'Mircal', 'Jewelshine'.


	6. Nevermore

**Chapter Six: Nevermore**

Niphredil the Green stood on a cliff overlooking the valley of Imladris. She leaned on her staff to keep her balance in the raging wind. Storm clouds gathered in the sky. Her hair was blown back by the wind, as was her heavy cloak. She held her hat in place with her left hand. Alone, dwarfed and glorified at the same time by the majestic weather and a landscape where all sizes smaller than that of the mountains were so insignificant that the differences and distances were dimmed. One couldn't say if the wizard was tall as an elf or small as a hobbit. Even her face, serious, lost in thought, was ageless.

Celeborn stared at her. They had met many times, and he had thought by now he knew all of the young wizard's surprises. Yet he saw now a new facet of the jewel that was Niphredil's half-mortal soul. He climbed up the path, feeling the wind as he stepped into the open, wondering if Niphredil held herself in place by magic or by strength and will alone – both she had aplenty.

'Hail, Sereg Anarien, Istar Galen!' He greeted her. The woman didn't move. She spoke:

'Hail, lord of Imladris, who once reigned in Lóthlorien.'

'Once and no more.' Celeborn's features were cast in shadow.

'Nevermore. I was expecting you. You will be happy to know that I personally delivered the message you gave me into the hands of Samwise Gamgee, who will soon sail West unless he already has.' Niphredil told him.

'I thank you.' Celeborn sounded relieved.

Now Niphredil turned to face him. Celeborn saw tears in her eyes.

'Why do you cry, my friend? It is I who have been separated from my wife. Did you, perhaps, send a letter to your father? Is it a pain to see his companions age, those who were younger than Frodo?'

'No. I have said my farewells, and I do not regret my choice any more than you regret yours. It was another sorrow that a visit to Bag End reminded me of. You see, Samwise's heir is his son, one Frodo Gardner. He has a wife and nine children. It was close, very close, that I would have become his wife. I saw in time it was not my path. I have chosen to fly against the wind. I have chosen to bring to this age a power of the past. The price is loneliness.' Niphredil faced the wind, allowing it to blow the tears away.

'It need not be.' Celeborn's voice was quiet, yet firm.

'What do you mean, my lord?' Niphredil turned to face him.

'Well, certainly the Istari of old were lonely men. But you are not bound by the oaths of their order. You serve all life, but by your own choice. You were not sent from the West – quite the contrary.' Celeborn pointed out.

'I was banished.' Niphredil looked away again.

'Well, you're not the only one who was. The Noldor would understand.' Celeborn persisted, stepping closer.

Niphredil laughed.

'My treachery, though great, was much more down-to-earth than theirs. I'm a down-to-earth person, really, lord Celeborn. I may walk in Mithrandir's footsteps, but I am Radagast's apprentice. I've become what I am by choice. I am alone by choice. You of all people should understand.'

'I see. But I am not parted from Galadriel forever. You once had an understanding with Legolas, son of Thranduil. What happened?' Celeborn's eyes twinkled with youthful curiousity.

'Life happened. He deserves better than me.' Niphredil fingered her staff nervously.

'Few elves marry at all, these times. I had hoped he might…'

'Find happiness with a half-mortal crazy little hobbit woman who also happens to be the last living wizard? Why would anyone hope such a thing?' Niphredil looked at him quizzically.

'Ask your companions. Their bloods are mixed and will be mixed further, if what I've glimpsed comes to pass. And this will eventually be a blessing to all the races involved. Assuming, of course, that a race like your mother's has need of blessings, being more likely to bestow them than benefit from them.' Celeborn looked at the landscape beneath them.

'I will bear in mind your advice. Lord Celeborn, have you spoken to Legolas recently, by any chance?' Niphredil asked, and Celeborn could tell by her voice that it cost her a lot of pride to ask about Legolas.

'Indeed I have. He spoke of your quest, and the prophecy. And he told me you would most likely pass this way, and asked me to relay a message.'

'Making the lord of Rivendell his messenger, is he now?' Niphredil smiled, joking, for she knew Legolas was anything but proud.

'He did not foresee you would not enter Rivendell. The message was simply that you may count on the assistance of his people once you enter the Greenwood, and that lady Neldoren wishes to see her son.'

'So he did not, for example, ask you to discuss my loneliness and my choices?' Niphredil teased Celeborn.

'No. That I did on my own volition. It seems to me he has come to accept the situation. There is one other matter, however, that I would like to discuss. On behalf of myself and the lords Elladan and Elrohír.'

'I am listening.'

'It seems a hasty decision has been made, and perhaps ought to be unmade. I have come to invite you and both your companions to Rivendell.'

'Then let us go to them.' Niphredil was proud, but not so stubborn she would refuse the hospitality of Imladris.

They found Neldohír and Narannon some way up the hill, practicing with their weapons. They were evenly matched and quite skillful by now. Neldohír was very deliberate with his strokes, and it seemed Narannon could not foil him though he tried – perhaps it was the Ent blood that made him consider where a human would be hasty, or perhaps some elven instinct.

'We have a visitor,' Niphredil announced. Both lowered their blades at once at the sound of her voice, and Neldohír managed a clumsy bow.

'My lord Celeborn.'

'Prince Neldohír.' The elf-lord nodded his head in aknowledgement.

Narannon just stood and stared. Celeborn spoke to him:

'Narannon Peradan, I have come to offer you my apology and an invitation to join your companions in Rivendell. Our hospitality is yours.'

'I accept the invitation, and the apology, most gratefully, my lord.'

And Narannon, the half-orc, bowed deep to the elven lord, as graceful as any courtier.

Lord Celeborn departed alone as he had come, and the three companions packed their belongings, tidied the place they had camped in so that no trace remained of their stay, and entered Rivendell some hours later. This time they were welcomed at once, for Celeborn had informed all his subjects of the arrival of the Istar Galen and her friends, and warned them very sternly not to comment on Narannon's appearance.

The company was glad to be united at last, and Elena especially had missed Niphredil. The remainder of their stay was enjoyable but uneventful, and when they departed to cross the mountains they were well provided for by the three lords.


	7. The Tale of Ten Shadows

**Seven: The Tale of Ten Shadows**

It was three days after the the Company had left Rivendell. Night had fallen like a black curtain over the land, strewn with stars and woven with the rustlings and croakings of unseen creatures. The company had made camp in a forest clearing. It was a campsite of the Rangers, and there was wood there, old and very dry, in a simple shelter. Niphredil told her young companions they could use the wood tonight, but they would have to gather more to replace it the following day. Mircal nodded sagely:

"Indeed, that is the way of the Rangers. My father would approve."

Niphredil grinned. "Who do you think taught me?"

But the youngsters didn't answer – Neldohír was concentrating on the voices of the trees, telling them no fresh limb would be chopped for firewood; Mircal thought Nipredil meant Aragorn; Elena and Gilliam were sure she was talking about her own father, Frodo Baggins; Gala believed this to have been a rhetorical question requiring no answer.

Finally Narannon Firegate broke the silence:

"Who taught you, Green Wizard?" He asked.

"My mother. Tinwen Híniel Cal-Urúnya Maialaurë El-Carnil Elai Pengil Dari Hawkfeather Baggins." Niphredil spoke the long litany of names like a blessing, and that was precisely what they were.

"Who was this lady of many names?" Narannon asked, and Niphredil realized that she hadn't told him of her parentage yet.

"Forgive me. I shall tell you of my mother, Narannon Firegate, if you kindly tend the fire while Elena cooks our supper." She suggested.

Narannon began tending the fire as requested, and Niphredil noticed he had a natural talent for it. Perhaps it was not entirely by chance that he was named 'Firegate'?

"My mother," Niphredil began, her voice taking on the cadences of a practiced storyteller, "was an Ainu. Not a Vala, of course – not one of the Mighty Ones. Do you know who Arien is?" She asked Narannon. Elena's lips trembled with the answer, but the Hobbit girl knew that it was Narannon who must speak it.

"Yes. I did live a long time in Starlight Village, and the Gondorians have a lot of stories about the Goddess of their City, Arien of Minas Anor. Sergen told me the stories when we drank my home-brew – he was glad of an audience that hadn't heard them a thousand times already." The Peradan told her.

Niphredil frowned. "I would not call Arien a Goddess. Even the Valar are not Gods and Goddesses. They are Demigods. Eru Ilúvatar is the Only God." She paused, looked into the fire, and found her thread of narrative again in its sparks.

"Anyways, you know the tale of Arien and Tilion then, I'm sure, of the Sun and the Moon." She did not wait for affirmation. "Arien had many sisters and brothers – spirits of fire. My father writes:

'Among the Maiar are counted Arien and her sisters. They came to Eä like a rain of flames from the heavens, for they are spirits of fire. They became servants to Vána the Ever-Young. They walked with her, sang with her, all but one, the least of them all. She was Tinwen, 'spark-maiden'. She had little power and even less craft, save the art of games and tricks. She had the habit of hiding from her sisters and then surprising them by pretending to attack them in a weird shape. If she was sent on an errand she might dally on the way, wandering off to inspect a cave or build a dam, if such activity interested her at the moment. Often she was away for a long time, on pointless journeys of her own. At other times the Mighty had no peace from her impossible questions asked on awkward moments.' Niphredil cited Frodo's narrative from memory. Then she continued in her own words:

"Thus was my mother, when the world began. Look at the fire, my friends. Look at the sparks, how they dance. The sparks seldom make a sound – and neither is my mother a mighty singer in the Ainurin Choir. But she sang her part, a line there, a word here, and shaped the sparks that dance in all the fires, in all of Eä. And she wore names like others wear clothing, accepting them as gifts, and changing into a new one when the old one no longer fit, or became torn and dirty, or was stolen from her." Niphredil looked at the fire, but her audience looked at its reflection in her eyes. Surely she hadn't had eyes of liquid gold a moment ago? That was how she looked, and her shadow seemed to take shape, and stood tall behind her, a darkness of the air, a shadow not cast on any surface, but like a ghost made of night. And suddenly their attention was focused on the shadow, as Niphredil spoke on:

"Híniel means Child-Minded, and that is the name Eönwë Herald of Manwë gave my mother." Niphredil's shadow took on color, and became a Hobbit-sized shape with a mess of fiery orange hair, blue shining eyes like sparks from metal, and simple clothes such as a human child would wear. The shadow threw a somersault. Niphredil didn't move.

"But at the same moment another Maia also named my mother. And that one was Turon, Servant of Aulë, the one who later became Gorthaur the Cruel, or as you call him, Sauron. The name he gave her was Cal-Urúnya – or so it is written in my father's chronicles. The Maiar, at that time, spoke a language that few mortals know, and my mother always tells her story in Noldorin Quenyan." Niphredil spoke on, and her shadow burst to flame, yet did not seem to be consumed by the golden radiance. The flame-creature danced, seductively, blowing kisses at some unseen or imagined watcher.

"Once the Quendi came to Aman, my mother made friends with a maiden called Alatáriel, who is now remembered as Galadriel. To amuse her and cause mischief, Tinwen took on the shape and semblance of Alatáriel, perfect in every detail. Many of the Quendi thought them twins. Already at that age, Galadriel was very wise, and Tinwen learned much from her about the lands in the East and the short history of the Eldar." The shadow was now an elf-maiden, golden-haired and gray-eyed, so beautiful that Mircal turned his face away in despair, while Gilliam's jaw dropped open and the hand holding a piece of fried rabbit fell to his lap, forgotten. Narannon looked closely at the shadow-maiden, trying to memorize every detail – these were the features of the legendary Galadriel, whom the Men of Rohan called a witch. And Neldohír's face was lit with a smile – he noted with satisfaction that those who had compared his mother to young Galadriel had indeed been right: beautiful golden-haired elf-maidens both, with eyes full of the Sea... and yet Galadriel was fairer, as befit one of the High Elves.

Suddenly Neldohír's smile faded. "Someone is coming from the direction of Rivendell, Niphredil. The trees whisper of a shadow passing under them. It is a mortal man – or a woman, for the trees make no difference by gender." He told her gravely.

Niphredil looked up, and saw truth in Neldohír's eyes. "The trees are wise, we do well to heed their warning. Mircal – you've heard this story already, go to stand over there under the shadow of that large tree, and keep watch. Take your sword!" Niphredil instructed, and Mircal departed. The elf-woman made of shadows and light followed him with her eyes. Narannon tended the fire, and Elena served soup to her companions, setting a bowl close to the fire so it would stay warm for Mircal.

"You others, keep your senses alert, also. I will continue my story, to lure watchers into thinking we do not know we are not alone here." She looked at the fire again. "Galadriel and Tinwen gifted each other with new names – my mother became El-Carnil, after the red star Carnil, and her friend earned the nickname of Lauremiriel – a name composed of gold, stars and jewels." The elf-shaped shadow was still watching Mircal.

"My mother was captured by Sauron, and released by Eönwë – but the Lord of all Heralds could not break the enchanted chain Sauron had locked around Tinwen's neck. No one in all of Beleriand could break it – for it had been foretold that the chain would only be broken when Sauron's existence ended for ever." The shadow, grew dark again, a shadow in truth, and its shape was white-haired, bent as if with age, and hideous to behold. The eyes were in deep pits and spoke of suffering. Then white light began to grow from the shadow's hands, and it became a beautiful maiden again – but now the hair was black as night and the eyes dark also, with a red glint.

"My mother was rejuvenated when she touched two of the Silmarils, but the chain remained, and it bound her soul to Sauron, making her one of his creatures against her will. She went to the wilderness, found her way to the Fangorn of old, and earned a new name from the Ents – she became Maialaurë." The shadow's hair was brown as bark now, and dull and shineless like lichen. Its eyes were the green of summer leaves, and its skin was darkly tanned. Neldohír looked at the shadow, and his own dark face grew pale. Tinwen had been no Ent-wife, but this shape of hers was the closest he had ever seen to one. And to the half-Ent's eyes, this shape was the most beautiful one of all.

"From Fangorn, Tinwen was called away by the hunting horns of Gil-Galad, High King of the Noldor. She became a lady of his court, and he called her Elai." The shape of the shadow flickered, much to Neldohír's dissappointment, and became the dark-haired woman again, but now the eyes were deep midnight blue. Elena breathed a sigh in admiration – the shadow in the form of Lady Elai was wearing the most wonderful purple gown she had ever seen.

"Gil-Galad was determined to break the enchantment, and that was one of the many reasons why he formed the Army of the Last Alliance, and waged war against Sauron. My mother would not be parted from him, and so she..."

But at this point, Niphredil was interrupted by Narannon. "I smell a Gondorian near here. Watching us. A female, judging by the amount of perfume." He told her.

Niphredil frowned. "I haven't sensed anyone approaching. Have you, Neldohír?" She asked.

Neldohír blushed. "I was so captivated by your story that I forgot to listen to the trees. She is standing eight feet South from Mircal, and she carries no weapon, as far as the trees can tell."

Niphredil walked to the spot Neldohír had indicated. There stood indeed a hidden watcher, a tall human wearing a cloak such as the Lórien cloaks that Gilliam, Mircal, Gala and Neldohír had inherited. But this cloak was darker in color, and its brooch was not a mallorn-leaf, it was the heraldic device of Gil-Galad – stars on a square blue field.

Niphredil saw her, because she hadn't covered her whole body with the magic cloak. Under the cloak she wore a simple peasant dress in pale blue, which showed up well in the darkness. She had expensive-looking boots and a large backbag, and she leaned on a heavy oaken staff. Her head was covered by the hood of the cloak.

"Greetings, wanderer. You are welcome to share the warmth of our fire, the meal of our evening, the sleep of the night and the ending of my story with us, should you wish so. I am Niphredil the Green – how shall I address you?"

The woman took down the hood, revealing beautiful features, pale skin, deep blue eyes, pointed ears, and curly brown hair. "Call me Lamia. I am grateful for your hospitality, and I accept your offer."

Niphredil nodded, and walked over to Mircal, to tell him the stranger had arrived.


End file.
